


The way to a man's heart

by Wanderer (Straggler)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Cakes and Desserts, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straggler/pseuds/Wanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik Lehnsherr: male, early-thirties, and a Professor of Materials Science and Engineering for Columbia University. Hobbies include reading, playing chess, and baking.</p>
<p>Charles Xavier: male, late-twenties, and a Professor of Genetics for Columbia University. Hobbies include reading, playing chess, and eating whatever Erik bakes.</p>
<p>This is a short story of how two men of different fields but with similar interest meet and spend their time together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The way to a man's heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnaMcb24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaMcb24/gifts).



> For [Anna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaMcb24) who becomes utterly ridiculous at the mention of food (especially cheesecake) and goes AKJFHKSJFHSSDFKSJHKCWS at the sight of them. Need I say more?

Erik has two images to his name: one where he is a stern, unrepentant professor of Columbia University and the other where he is a passionate baker. Unfortunately for most, Erik being an “unmitigated ass” is a more common description when it comes to him and his _shining_ personality. Fortunately for Charles, this is not the case. Or perhaps it was but it changed over the course of their (odd) friendship which began with a pick-up line based on genetics mainly focused around Erik’s eyes but that’s a different story altogether.

 

Erik is known to be a quiet man, not to say that he is shy or meek or even timid, but his silence falls on a different pitch, the kind that makes one rethink their words before they speak to garner his attention. His lack of words, or overall disinclination for verbal communication, is usually found to be intimidating to most. Unfortunately for Erik, this does not work on Charles. It never has.

 

‘What are you doing?’ Charles asks, distracted from his research for the fifth time this evening.

 

‘Warming the cream,’ Erik answers without looking away from the pot, keeping his attention strictly on the bubbles and the frequency of their appearance. It’s not long before he switches the heat off, deeming it hot enough to pour over the dark chocolate pieces he previously chopped into a wide glass bowl.

 

‘For the truffles? Don’t forget the rum,’ he quickly goes to fetch the bottle from his liquor cabinet and places it on the kitchen counter for Erik to use. Sadly, he used no more than two tablespoons of it and despite Charles’ prodding and cajoling Erik refused to add more.

 

‘You’re being terrible,’ the brunet says sulkily. ‘There’s nothing wrong with more.’

 

‘Too much alcohol ruins the flavor and the texture of the truffle,’ Erik explains as he caps the bottle for Charles to return back to the cabinet, which he does but he also comes back into the kitchen with a grin on his face, two tumblers full of ice and a bottle of scotch to share. ‘We need to discuss your addiction to alcohol,’ Erik says with a somber expression but accepts the drink anyway, taking a small sip of it before returning his attention to the bowl where the chocolate has just melted enough to be stirred and mixed through with a silicon spatula.

 

‘Addiction? Nonsense,’ Charles smiles cheekily as he takes a sip of his drink and dutifully puts away the rest of the alcohol. ‘Will you be staying tonight?’ He asks coming back into the kitchen and watches the bowl where a dark swirl of chocolate is being slowly mixed in with the cream.

 

‘No, I’ve paperwork to finish.’

 

‘Leave it for tomorrow,’ he tries to persuade.

 

Erik laughs. ‘This coming from a man who constantly complains about it being never-ending? It’s only because you always _“leave it for tomorrow”_ , that’s why.’

 

‘Oh, hush,’ he mopes and quickly changes the subject before they dwell on it for much longer. ’How long will the truffles need?’

 

‘Two hours in the fridge, or until they’re thick enough for me to shape,’ Erik says as he gives the dark chocolate mixture another stir and lets the utensil hover above the bowl to drizzle down. He does this repeatedly, his eyes focused on the consistency as it trickles from the spatula back into the bowl. Eventually, his eyes shift to meet Charles’ who gives him an expectant look as well as a raised eyebrow. ‘I suppose you’ll want to lick the spatula then?’

 

The brunet grins, looking hopeful for it. ‘It’s an all-time tradition, like licking a spoon after someone’s done using it for the cookie dough.’

 

Erik makes a face but hands the spatula over before steadily moving the chocolate mix from counter to a cleared space in the fridge. ‘I would never let someone eat raw cookie dough.’

 

‘Why not?’ He asks and then licks the blunt edges of the spatula before any of the chocolate drips onto the counter or his clothes. A little quiet moan escapes him as he lets the chocolate sit on his tongue, taking in all the flavors, before swallowing and going for another lick.

 

‘Two words: raw eggs,’ he answers as he shuts the fridge door, puts the dirty pot in the sink to wash and picks up his glass of scotch for another sip. ‘How is your research progressing?’

 

Charles winces at the reminder and looks over his shoulder to look at his reports and books strewn across the coffee table and on one side of his couch. In fact, his entire apartment floor is littered with his papers. ‘It’s going well enough,’ he hedges and finishes the rest of his scotch in one gulp and licks the spatula clean before depositing them in the sink along with the used pot. ‘That aside, how about a game of chess?’

 

‘Another attempt at procrastination?’ Erik asks, hiding his smirk behind his glass as he reaches for the bit of chocolate smeared at the corner of Charles’ lips and wipes it off with a thumb.

 

‘White goes first,’ he tells him instead as he heads towards his spare bedroom turned study to pick up his chess set, smiling at the chuckle he can hear coming from his kitchen.

 

\--

 

Charles has a habit of purchasing in excess, sometimes by accident but mostly on purpose, if only for the excuse of not having to turn up at Erik’s apartment empty-handed. It’s a nice gesture when he appears on Erik’s doorstep with a bag of freshly roasted walnuts or a good brand of chocolate, the kind that melts deliciously from body-heat only, but on the other hand: ‘I don’t like bananas, and if you expect me to bake a cake for you then I expect some form of compensation.’

 

‘Of course, hence the brandy which you can also use in your baking,’ he smiles as he waves an unopened bottle for Erik to see as he enters the man’s home without clear invitation. Erik rolls his eyes to the ceiling in mild exasperation, though the smile tugging at his lips says otherwise as he closes the door and follows Charles into the kitchen.

 

Erik would’ve been surprised at Charles’ arrival if he weren’t already used to the man turning up unannounced during all hours of their days’ off. What used to be difficult has now turned into a routine none of them had thought to form, it simply came to be.

 

‘Why is it that you always seem to buy more than what you need?’ He asks at the black-spotted bananas now sitting next to his fruit basket.

 

Charles sulks at the reprimand and eyes them forlornly. ‘I purchase enough to last me the week but the weather has been nothing but horrid and the bananas have suffered for it.’ He never liked eating overly ripened bananas; the texture and tastes are no longer to his liking.

 

‘Excuses, Charles,’ he reprimands lightly. ‘Mama always says: waste not, want not.’

 

‘Yes, yes,’ he huffs, though his expression softens at the mention of Erik’s mother.

 

Along with the three bananas and the fresh bottle of brandy, Charles also brought along four blocks of butter which Erik can’t help but raise an eyebrow at. To this, Charles tells him the s-word: ‘it was on special.’

 

‘I see,’ Erik says as the brunet continues to unpack his shopping bag, revealing a pack of fresh vanilla pods as well as a small jar of whole nutmegs. Erik picks up the jar and notices the price tag and label have been ripped off, leaving behind only a sticky, papery residue on the bottle as evidence it was ever there in the first place. The same has happened to the vanilla pods, too, and while this gesture used to be irritating to Erik because it meant he wouldn’t be able to source them for himself he’s now more amused at the lengths Charles was willing to go to continue having a reason to come to his apartment. ‘Thank you,’ he smiles as he puts the vanilla pods and nutmegs into his baking drawer and takes three of the four butter blocks to stack in the fridge, top shelf, closer to the back.

 

‘You’re welcome,’ the brunet smiles as he cracks open the bottle, pouring the both of them a generous amount of brandy into fresh glasses before making himself at home in the living room, taking up a good portion of the couch.

 

‘Were the truffles to your liking?’ Erik asks even though he already knows the answer as he puts the rest of the groceries away and leaves the bananas next to the butter as a reminder for tomorrow. It’s too late in the evening to contemplate baking.

 

‘Oh, they were _divine_ ,’ he half-moans at the memory and shifts on the couch until he’s reclining on it, feet propped up on an arm rest, relaxation personified. However, his happiness is short-lived, replaced by guilt as he says: ‘I didn’t share,’ and avoids looking at Erik’s amused expression.

 

‘Were you not the man who constantly harped: sharing is caring?’ He smiles at the memory going back to the very beginnings of their acquaintance where he once brought a homemade apricot muffin to the university and made the mistake of eating it in the staff room. Or more specifically, made the mistake of eating it in front of Charles who was (still is) a glutton for sweet treats, not that Erik had known at the time.

 

‘Terrible of you to bring it back to light. Besides, it was a completely different situation,’ he sits up in protest and gives Erik a half-hearted glare at the reminder all the while fighting off the flush of embarrassment from his cheeks.

 

He scoffs as he retrieves the chess set from his bookshelf and sets it on the coffee table, the black pieces lining up beside him. ‘I beg to differ.’

 

‘White goes first,’ Charles says without bite as he picks up a knight from the King’s side and makes his defense.

 

\--

 

Erik does not make exceptions, not for a 1% score that borders between passing and failing, not for late students who try to enter his lecture hall only to find that the door is locked, not for essays that missed the deadline by just minutes, and certainly not for people who choose to join his classes mid-semester.

 

Some would say he is a harsh person with a harsh personality and an even harsher code of conduct – this is all true.

 

Erik does not make exceptions, except with Charles being the _only_ exception to that exception. Nobody really knows why this came to be.

 

In all honesty, Erik doesn’t know why, either.

 

\--

 

Aside from baking, Erik doesn’t enjoy many other things in life, unlike Charles who take pleasure even from the most mundane of circumstances. Admirable, some would think, for him to make the most out of what would usually be considered as “boring”. To Erik, it just seems tedious to even bother.

 

‘That’s simply because you don’t know how to enjoy life,’ Charles says with a smug look as he sweeps up another bite of lemon cheesecake into his mouth and licks the utensil clean, a blissful expression on his face.

 

‘I know how to enjoy life,’ Erik claims.

 

The brunet scoffs and uses the blunt edge of the fork to divide away another portion of the dessert. ‘No, you don’t. As for me, I do,’ Charles makes his point by devouring another mouthful of the cheesecake.

 

Erik shakes his head in disagreement and keeps his attention on the magazine instead of the brunet. ‘No, what you’re doing is _indulging_ yourself. Overtly so.’ He’s always quietly amazed at the amount of treats Charles allows himself per day and he would’ve been worried for the man if he hadn’t found out that Charles also exercises regularly to keep his body fit to make up for his daily intake of sugary foods.

 

Beneath the Oxford shirt that’s two sizes too big and the frumpy cardigan is a body one would not have expected from Charles, especially given his sugar-loaded diet.

 

‘What I’m doing is _treating_ myself to a nice cheesecake while you’re sitting there reading a men’s fashion magazine,’ he quips but softens the blow by offering a bite of his dessert. He’s not surprised when it’s refused by the other with a calm shake of his head.

 

For a moment Erik’s eyes shift away from the magazine to scrutinize at what’s left of the lemon cheesecake still sitting on Charles’ plate. The candied lemon adds a nice, decorative touch but he feels sour at the thought of it and can’t help the immediate frown on his face as Charles picks up the lemon rind and eats it without pause, licking his fingers clean of the sugar syrup once he’s done.

 

‘Will you be coming over tonight?’ The brunet asks as he scrapes together bits of the biscuit base to go with the creamed cheese.

 

‘No, and why are you still eating? It’s late.’ A quarter past eleven, to be exact. The shop is set to close at midnight and already the wait-staff and kitchen workers are restocking the goods’ shelves for the next business day and preparing to end their shift.

 

‘I thought I’d take a small reprieve from my research and keep you company,’ he eats the last mouthful and licks his lips to taste away the last of the sweet treat before drinking his glass of water to cleanse his palate.

 

‘Yes, by coming to my apartment and dragging me away from my own work,’ he rebukes half-heartedly and turns to another page just as a waiter came by their table to top-up their water glasses. ‘I think I might purchase this,’ he changes the subject before Charles could add anymore to the topic as he lays the magazine down on the table for the brunet to see, ‘just to _treat_ myself to something nice.’

 

The hopeful expression on Charles’ face drops as soon as his eyes settle on the article of clothing Erik is pointing to and he almost scowls at the ill-joke. ‘Terrible. As if you don’t already have enough turtlenecks,’ he remarks with a roll of his eyes but refuses to comment further as he finishes off the rest of the whipped cream that came with the dessert, just to spite Erik.

 

By his disgruntled look, Charles reckons he’s succeeded.

 

\--

 

Charles firmly believes that a healthy body equates to a healthy mind and vice versa. He believes that a body needs to exercise in order to keep in shape, just like the mind needs stimulation to keep in top form. He believes in moderation, in indulgence, in self-control as well as taking part in life’s luxuries. He also believes that one should never consume a slice of cake or any form of sweet treats in front of a woman if one wants to stay in one piece.

 

‘Trust me, my friend; _I know_ ,’ he finishes in a meaningful whisper.

 

‘And where, exactly, did this knowledge come from?’ Erik asks with a smirk playing on his lips, certain of the fact that Charles will talk about it even without his encouragement.

 

The brunet shakes his head as he toys with a cherry stem between his thumb and forefinger that he had previously tied in his mouth. ‘I suppose it began with Raven while she was on one of her “ _diets_ ”, you know how terrible those are.’

 

‘Ah,’ he says with clear amusement across his face and gestures for Charles to continue his story while he returns his attention to the whipped cream. He scoops a small portion of it onto the chocolate spongecake and smoothes it across the surface with the flat side of the spatula. When that’s done he begins to layer it with candied cherry halves, most of which Charles has already consumed.

 

‘I don’t understand why women think it’s so bad to indulge in a little treat. Yes, the extra sugar and energy will inevitable go to their fat stores around their hips and waist but it’s nothing a little discipline won’t keep in shape,’ Charles protests as he sweeps up a bit of whipped cream from the bowl with his finger and pops it into his mouth.

 

‘Stop eating the ingredients,’ Erik tells him off, though he’s sure Charles would continue doing it regardless.

 

True enough, Charles ignores his reprimand. ‘They ought to know holding back their cravings will not only make things harder for themselves but also for those around them,’ he winces in memory to a previous incident he had with Raven involving a chocolate gateau, the same one Erik’s making right this very moment. ‘When they eventually give in to their urges, and we both know they will, they’ll end up consuming more than they mean to and then they’ll regret it,’ he says around another mouthful of whipped cream using a different finger but swallows it down before continuing his spiel. ‘And not only will they _regret_ it but they’ll force themselves to hold back their cravings again in order to compensate for the weight gain. It’s a vicious cycle, my friend.’

 

‘Speaking of vicious cycles,’ he quips in response to the brunet’s comment as he gently places another layer of the spongecake on top and quickly steals the bowl away from Charles’ busy fingers. At this rate, he’ll run out of ingredients before the cake is even finished. ‘Charles, do you want a _completed_ black forest gateau or are you going for the deconstructed version?’

 

The brunet merely grins at the reproach but whole-heartedly surrenders the kitchen to Erik, opting to delve back into his research papers lying in disorganized piles in the living room and across the floor. He leaves, but not before stealing two more cherries straight out of Erik’s fingers, much to the man’s dismay.

 

\--

 

Erik, along with being quiet, is an intensely private man; he’s only ever allowed a small handful of people into his life and share company with. This number, of course, also includes Charles, though it’s not so much _allow_ as it was the man forcibly assimilating himself into Erik’s small ( _small_ ) circle of family and friends. While it had been maddening at the beginning being forced into this unwanted friendship, Erik had grown to enjoy the man’s presence and even found himself looking forward to meeting him again and again.

 

However, what he had not anticipated was that once he became friends with Charles he also became acquainted with Charles’ friends. _All of them_.

 

‘Erik, you’re here!’ Raven yells over the music upon opening the door for him. A cheer welcomes him as soon as his name is mentioned.

 

‘Yes,’ he begins cautiously and wonders if perhaps he came at the wrong time, or on the wrong day, or even the wrong week.

 

‘Well, come on in!’ She smiles and gestures for him to step inside but he remains where he stands.

 

‘I—’

 

‘Erik!’

 

‘Charles,’ he greets with a raised eyebrow.

 

The brunet grins and stares at him blatantly for a few moments before an obvious cough reminds him that he’s not alone. ‘Raven, be a darling and go check on your Angel, please? Methinks she might’ve had one glass too many.’

 

She rolls her eyes and sighs in a fond manner as she pats him lightly on his flushed cheeks before going off. ‘Yes, dear.’

 

 ‘You didn’t tell me you were having a party,’ Erik says once they’re alone, or as alone as two people can be in a room full of party-goers. He can see bits of colored paper littering the floor, a few party stringers hanging from the light fixtures and some confetti in Charles’ hair.

 

‘Tis just a small get-together,’ he shouts louder than necessary and proceeds to drag Erik inside by the sleeve of his turtleneck.

 

‘Small,’ he deadpans and looks across the man’s apartment where not a single free space is left available and where even the fire-escape is occupied, something which ought to be a hazard on some level. ‘I think your definition of “ _small_ ” needs revision.’ He makes a double-take when he spots Emma, one of the professors of psychology, conversing on the couch with another professor, Shaw of nuclear physics, and half-wishes he imagined it.

 

Charles laughs as he pushes his way through the crowd towards the kitchen. While Charles resorts to saying ‘excuse me-pardon me’ every two seconds, a harsh look is all Erik needs for his way to become clear.  Sean, the music major and science minor, is especially susceptible to his glare.

 

‘Convenient,’ the brunet smiles as he goes through his cupboards for an unused glass and manages to procure the last one sitting in the back corner. ‘Come with me, my fere!’

 

‘Where?’

 

‘The study,’ he says and begins to push his way through the crowd once again, apologizing when he accidentally steps on Armando’s shoes.

 

Erik sighs and holds the brunet back so he can lead the way. What was normally a five-second trip became one that lasted closer to a minute. An extraordinary feat considering that the location hasn’t changed, merely the layout and the obstacles that now stand in their way. As soon as they’ve shut the noise behind them Erik can’t help but feel relieved now that the bass rhythm isn’t trying to drill a hole into his skull. ‘Special occasion, I presume?’ He begins as the brunet unlocks his alcohol cabinet and pours the Erik a portion of scotch and refills his own glass with the same amount.

 

‘Birthday, actually – Raven’s, but I hid myself away in here after some hours passed. The noise was getting to me head,’ he reasons with a careless wave of his hand and knocks back the alcohol with a hard swallow.

 

‘I think you’ve had enough,’ he can’t help but say with a smile as he takes the glass from Charles’ loose hold, puts it back on top of the cabinet and turns his attention to ridding the confetti from Charles’ hair. ‘How much have you had to drink?’ He asks, though he has a feeling that it’s more than what the brunet would usually imbibe since his speech has turned slightly “ye olde English”.

 

‘Overmany, you might say,’ he smiles, proving Erik’s point, as he sits roughly on his swivel chair and lets it spin around once, twice before he forcefully stamps his feet down to stop himself. ‘But you! You’re late,’ he shouts giddily.

 

‘I told you I was going to be late, but if I’d known this was for a birthday then I would’ve outright said “no” instead.’ Erik explains as he takes a container of water out from the mini-fridge and pours Charles a tall glass of it. ‘Drink this before you complain of a hangover in the morning. You know better than to consume over your limit.’

 

‘You’re terrible,’ he pouts, though he accepts the glass and guzzles the whole lot in one go.

 

‘More?’ he offers as he shakes the water container to and fro, letting it slosh about.

 

‘No, thank you,’ the brunet says with the slightest of groans as he passes Erik the empty glass and buries his head in both hands, down from an alcohol-induced high.

 

Erik shakes his head as he takes in Charles’ pitiful appearance – the stained and wrinkled shirt with poorly folded shirt sleeves, the untied shoes (a miracle he hasn’t tripped over them the entire time) with a creamy smear across the laces, the listless hair with one bit of missed confetti tucked within the folds and his equally listless mood.

 

It’s just ten past eleven in the evening but it’s obvious the night is already over for Charles, though Erik can’t say the same for the party still going strong outside.

 

‘When did this “small” get-together begin, exactly?’ Erik asks as he drags Charles’ chair along until he can sit on the well-worn chaise.

 

‘Five o’clock, but it didn’t hit full swing until a little after six.’

 

Erik takes hold of Charles’ wrists and pulls them towards him until he can see through the gaps of his fingers. Charles’ eyes are still the same bright blue but there’s a tired quality in them that’s usually absent; a rare sight. The flush is gone from his cheeks and there are deep shadows beneath his eyes and Erik wonders if Charles has been getting enough quality sleep recently. When Erik takes in the sight of his unnaturally pale skin, the kind that speaks of illness, he begins to question if Charles has been getting enough sleep at all.

 

‘Time for bed,’ Erik tells him as he pats the brunet on the shoulder and motions for him to get up.

 

Charles takes his time and sways slightly on his feet but is quick to steady himself as he heads towards the door. He braces himself for the barrage of noise and winces when the music hits them full force again but he beats a hasty retreat to his bedroom where no one has dared to trespass, dragging Erik by the sleeve behind him.

 

The room is a mess, even messier than the study, as if Charles had thrown everything he didn’t want out there in here in a bid to clean up his apartment before his guests arrived. Erik wouldn’t be surprised if Charles did exactly that.

 

‘Oh god, I’m getting old,’ Charles groans in realization as he falls onto his bed and attempts to smother himself using his pillow.

 

‘Most people would not consider your late-twenties as “old”,’ Erik says as he maneuvers his way towards the bed, guided by the harsh fluorescent lights from the streetlamps outside. He lightly nudges Charles’ feet until they’re off the bed and is thankful the sheets have not been stained by whatever was on his shoes. ‘Change into something more suitable before you wallow in self-pity,’ he quips with as much of a straight face as possible, but the small quirk at the corner of his lips belies the seriousness of his comment.

 

Charles sits up on his bed and gives him a flat stare. ‘Have I told you how terrible you are?’

 

‘Frequently,’ he smirks as he leaves to give the brunet his privacy but he feels a hand on his forearm, warming his skin through the sleeve of his turtleneck. He eyes Charles questioningly.

 

‘Please stay,’ he says as he squeezes his arm lightly.

 

‘We are two highly-esteemed professors of Columbia University; this will not look good, even worse when your apartment is filled with students we both teach and professors we both work with.’

 

‘Make an exception,’ he gives a tighter squeeze.

 

‘I’ve made plenty.’ _For you_ , he doesn’t reveal.

 

‘Make another one.’

 

Erik exhales quietly and gently pries Charles’ slacken fingers from his arm. ‘Go to sleep, Charles; I have to clean up your mess,’ he says without bite as he exits the room and closes the door behind him.

 

From where he stood he can see Alex opening up another box of beers in the kitchen and passing them around to willing takers, even to the usually quiet Hank who’s now sporting a healthy flush to his cheeks from the alcohol in his system. Erik bites down an exasperated sigh as he switches off the music and begins to terrify the students into leaving home for the weekend, all without a hint of remorse. He makes sure everybody has a safe route home, makes calls for taxis to those in need of it, politely bids the professors farewell and wishes them all a safe trip.

 

He begins to clean the apartment first by throwing out all the pizza boxes into the recycling along with the beer cans and the alcohol bottles. Next, he sweeps the floors clean, pulls away all the party stringers from the lights and throws them into a rubbish bag to be dumped down the garbage chute. After this he gathers up all the glasses and plates into the sink, washes and stacks them on the racks to dry before wiping down the living room and kitchen tables. He straightens the apartment as he recalls it and the whole task takes him no more than half an hour to complete.

 

Erik locks the door behind him before leaving but hesitates just short of closing the door the entire way.

 

The lights are off and everything’s in order but Erik can’t stop his eyes from looking down the hallway towards the bedroom where Charles is sleeping. He checks his wristwatch: it’s almost midnight.

 

He closes the door.

 

\--

 

The music has stopped but he can hear cardboard being flattened and glass clinking together. He can hear the swoosh of a broom on his hardwood floor and running water from the kitchen as the dishes are being washed. He can hear the door opening, a pause, and then the door closing again.

 

Charles’ eyes fall shut as he pulls the blanket tighter around his body and he decides it’s time to sleep.

 

But then his bedroom door gently creaks open and he’s surprised to see a silhouette of Erik standing just on the threshold of his room.

 

‘Erik,’ Charles can’t hide the surprise in his voice as the man fully steps inside and shuts the door behind him.  ‘You decided to stay,’ he murmurs happily when the bed stoops to the side the slightest bit.

 

‘This still won’t look good, but at least we don’t have to worry about our students and our colleagues partying in your apartment anymore.’

 

He smiles as he shifts around the bed to allow Erik more room. ‘Thank you for making an exception.’

 

Erik sighs as he picks the last bit of confetti he’d previously missed out of Charles’ hair and tosses it over his shoulder away from the bed. ‘Go to sleep.’

 

‘Goodnight, Erik,’ he whispers, unable to help the smile on his face as he draws closer to Erik, feeling warmer now than he did before.

 

\--

 

Erik believes in sleeping enough for the body to recover and for the mind to feel rested. He does not sleep more than necessary and he does not spend five minutes more lying in bed trying to remember the dream he had just moments before. As soon as he wakes, he is up from his bed and ready to begin his day. He believes in utilizing every second of every minute, of planning ahead and wasting no extra movements.

 

Erik does not make exceptions.

 

But Charles _is_ the exception.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed reading this!!
> 
> If anybody's interested I also have a Tumblr account which you can access [here](http://straggling-wanderer.tumblr.com/). It's filled with random things I like which currently revolves around food, pets, reblogs of Doctor Who, Sherlock, assorted movies and a lot of XMFC-related stuff...
> 
> Yup...


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